


At Home

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Community: sentinel_thurs, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Domestic fluff, based on the prompt 'spring clean' at Sentinel Thursday</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Home

Blair sat cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, curly hair veiling his face as he flicked through the book, apparently reading about five pages here and there, before he put it in the cardboard box to his left.

“Careful, Sandburg. You get rid of any more stuff and you’ll have a monk-like simplicity thing going there, and that’ll confuse the hell out of me.”

A sun-shiney smile broke across Blair’s face. “That’s bullshit, man. How can I possibly be confusing that finely honed detective brain?”

Jim shrugged from his propped up position against Blair’s door frame. “You’re spring cleaning. _And_ you’re getting rid of books. I thought that every book was sacred.”

Blair fished a balled up piece of paper from the green plastic trash bag on his right and biffed it unerringly at Jim’s head. Jim had good reflexes so it didn’t actually hit him. He aimed it back, with great forbearance, at the trash bag, not Blair’s head. Blair grinned even more widely, and put another one of the books on the bed.

“I’ll sell and recycle the books, they’ll be appreciated, and I will have divested myself of unnecessary belongings.” He critically eyed a shirt and put it with the Goodwill pile.

“I thought Naomi gave you that.”

“Yeah, she did,” Blair said cheerily. “And I’ve worn it a couple of times, but the vibes are wrong. Plus too much yak hair. Scratchy...” He pushed a strand of hair behind his ears, “Don’t tell me that you never discreetly got rid of a gift that wasn’t right.”

Jim considered some of the things that Carolyn gave him, and nodded unwilling assent. “I suppose. I guess I’m just finding it kind of weird. You lost so much stuff from your warehouse. Why get rid of more?”

“I don’t need it. What’s with the third degree? I thought you’d be completely down with the idea of me reducing my tentacle like expansion into the loft?” A pile of magazines and a small wooden box joined the Goodwill pile.

Jim examined his shirt cuffs. They had no answers. “I don’t know. Just curious.” Guilt prodded him. “You don’t have to throw stuff out on my account, Chief.”

The mobile Sandburg eyeballs did a three-sixty revolution. “God, I know that, doofus. But it’s cleansing. Symbolic. It’s spring. Hell, you like things simple, too.”

“Yeah,” Jim said meditatively. “But I don’t throw stuff out so much. I’m just choosier about what I bother to collect in the first place.” He smirked.

Blair chuckled. “Yeah, man, you are totally choosy. Look at who you have for a room mate.”

“I don’t know,” Jim said magnanimously. “You’re not so bad.”

Blair lifted the back of his hand against his forehead in dramatic parody of a swooning maiden. “Why sir, I had no idea of your feelings. This is so sudden. When can I expect you to write to my mother?”

“Can it, junior, or you’ll have yak hair in some very uncomfortable places.”

“I’m not that kind of guy, Jim,” Blair said smugly, before standing to take the trash bag out to the kitchen, poking Jim in the chest to indicate that he should move. “I’ve done enough work and raised enough dust that I think I deserve coffee.” He poured water into the coffee maker, and grabbed the coffee. He turned back to Jim, an impish expression on his face. “Hey. I should take what you said as a compliment.”

Jim seated himself at the table. “Saying that you’re not so bad is not a marriage proposal,” he said, dry as dust.

Blair snorted, and reached for two mugs. “No, I meant about being choosy about what you bother to collect. If you extend that to people then that definitely works out as a compliment.”

“You can’t compare people to stuff, Sandburg.” Jim found his voice rough suddenly. “If you could do that, then I’d be wondering whether I’d get thrown out in the next cleansing ritual.” There was maybe the slightest check in Blair’s movement as he opened the door of the fridge.

“Guess you’re right,” he said. “You can’t compare people to stuff.” He sniffed the milk and then jammed the carton under Jim’s nose. “Will this be okay for you?”

Jim reared his head back. “Yeah, as long as you don’t expect me to inhale it.”

“Not even with a neti pot, man.”

“Do I want to know what that means?”

Blair grinned. “Get a cold, and find out.” He turned back to the counter, tipping the milk into the cups with an untidy slosh. Jim decided that he wouldn’t grouse about it. Blair knew where the cloth was to mop everything up. Blair seemed pretty at home, all things considered.

Jim never got spring colds. He figured that he had at least another six months before he had to worry about what a neti pot was.


End file.
